


count the locks and doorways

by madameofmusic



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Almost porn, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 04:25:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11283711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madameofmusic/pseuds/madameofmusic
Summary: They're finally here, the apex of everything that's been building for months, and months.And they forget to lock the door.





	count the locks and doorways

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiki13m](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiki13m/gifts).



> This is straight up [smol-lucio's](http://smol-lucio.tumblr.com/) fault. We were talking about how characters get shoved up against doors a lot in fic, and how that wouldn't quite work in the Overwatch universe, since all the doors are automatic. 
> 
> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own.

The early morning light filters through the watchpoint in a way that makes Jesse’s breath catch in his throat, even after all these years. It illuminates the corridors and large hallways that make it easy to forget Overwatch isn’t technically a _thing_ , anymore.

If he concentrates, sometimes he can still hear the noises of several hundred agents echoing through the watchpoint.

“McCree?” Hanzo touches his arm, pulling him out of his stupor. “Is everything okay?”

Jesse smiles, and nods. “Just fine.” He steps away from the open door to the mess hall where they’d stopped, and continues on to Hanzo’s quarters. “You said you had something to show me, right?”

Hanzo nods, and keys in the code to his door. It opens with a clean _whoosh_ , and they go in, the door shutting behind them soundlessly. “I-” Hanzo stops, playing with the edge of his jacket. They’d been out all night, first with everyone else at the bar, and then alone, wandering the streets of the nearby town and talking quietly to one another. Early mornings, Jesse’s ma used to say, are the most honest times.

Hanzo surges upwards, cups a hand on Jesse’s jaw, and stops for a second, searching. Whatever he finds, what Jesse _wants_ him to find, _hopes_ he finds, he does. Their lips meet, slowly at first. Jesse settles a hand on Hanzo’s hip, and can’t stop himself from grinning.

Hanzo pulls back, brow furrowed in confusion. “Why are you laughing?"

Jesse shakes his head, and tucks a strand of Hanzo’s hair behind his ear. “M’not, sweet. It’s just…” He trails off, still smiling. A disgruntled noise from Hanzo prompts him to continue. “It’s just when you said you had something to show me in your quarters, I wasn’t expecting it to be a kiss.”

Hanzo snorts, and pulls Jesse back towards him, downwards. “Well, why not? Have I read the mood wrong?”

Jesse shakes his head, gives Hanzo a peck on the jaw. “Naw, you got it.”

Hanzo pushes Jesse’s hat off his head, and replaces it with his fingers, firmly threaded through Jesse’s hair. He nudges Jesse backwards, and Jesse lets himself be guided towards the wall, lets Hanzo take the lead. He’s… nervous, despite all the months he’s known they were leading up to this exact moment.

Jesse’s hand slips under Hanzo’s jacket, underneath his shirt to bare skin beneath. “Hey,” he says, pulling back. Their breathing is unsteady, shaky with tension. “Do you mind if I-?”

Hanzo nods, steps out of the cradle of Jesse’s arms. He unzips his jacket, and pulls off his shirt, letting both fall to the floor. Jesse takes him in, admiring every inch of lean muscle, every thin, white scar that maps a history longer than Jesse knows right now.

He hopes he can learn every matching story, eventually.

“Your turn.” Hanzo folds his arms, not self-consciously but _confidently_ , and gives Jesse a look that makes him a little dizzy with all the emotion there is behind it.

Jesse nods, unbuttoning his shirt as fast as he can. His fingers fumble, and he curses under his breath, the mixture of frustration and unbridled _want_ making him clumsy. “Let me.” Hanzo steps close, and brushes Jesse’s hands out of the way, undoing every button with quick, sharp movements. “There.”

Jesse shrugs off his shirt, and Hanzo’s hands help him remove the cotton t-shirt underneath. Hanzo’s hands are calloused, and they leave a trail of heat where they touch him.

They pause for a moment, all of the air sucked out of the room as months worth of dancing around exactly this crashes down around them. Jesse moves first, surging forward impatiently and pulling Hanzo into a messy kiss.

Hanzo’s hands find his belt buckle, and he undoes it with ease. The zipper is next, and Jesse wants, wants, _wants_.

They tug off his jeans, boots slipping off in the process, leaving him in loose boxers, and horseshoe patterned shocks.

Hanzo arches an eyebrow. “Don’t say anything.” Jesse says, wishing he’d had the foresight to do laundry, or that half of his sock drawer wasn’t exactly like this. 

Hanzo laughs at him, but pulls him down once again. Jesse’s hands find Hanzo’s belt. Hanzo brushes him away. “Not yet.” He’s smiling now, lasciviously. Jesse feels a little hot around the collar. He guides Jesse backwards. “I want to blow you.”

Jesse makes a noise that can only be called a squeak, and nods his consent.

Hanzo shoves him up against the door, and before Jesse even realizes what’s happening, they’re falling through.

They collapse on the floor.

Right at the feet of Jack Morrison, unofficial leader of their group and one of the men Jesse damn near idolized throughout his time in Blackwatch. 

Jesse’s never felt so mortified in his life.

 

 

Jack Morrison doesn’t get paid enough for this horseshit. It’s 5:30 a.m., and he just wanted some goddamn coffee. Instead, he witnesses a half dressed Hanzo Shimada, and nearly undressed Jesse McCree fall out of Hanzo’s quarters. He sighs.

“Hello, boys.” The color washes from Jesse’s face, and he claps a hand over his face. Jack walks closer, and stands over them. “You okay? Hit anything?”

“We’re fine, Agent Morrison.” Hanzo meets Jack’s stare with a flinty-eyed, resolute look, unabashed.

 _“Jesus christ,”_ Jesse mutters from underneath him, face buried underneath one large palm.

“Isn’t it a little early to be roughhousing?” Jack arches an eyebrow, and takes a long drag from his coffee cup. He’s not wearing his visor, which makes him look all the more judgmental, despite the fact that he’s in a pair of fuzzy pajama pants patterned with reindeer, a remnant of the time before Overwatch's shutdown. 

“Isn’t it a little early for retired old men to be up?” Hanzo’s weak attempt at a comeback makes Jesse groan, and mutter another _Jesus Christ_ , but Jack’s mouth lifts up at one edge.

“Maybe.” He steps over them, despite the hallway being more than wide enough to walk around, and lifts a hand as he walks away. “Have fun and stay safe, boys.” He round the corner, and disappears from their site.

Jack Morrison, despite his cool exterior, was struggling not to burst out in laughter. He pulls out his cellphone and shoots off a text to a number he definitely shouldn’t have, to a person that should have been dead enough to not even have a number, much less a working one.

He pockets the phone, ignoring the several dings that indicate a string of messages had just come through, and heads to the kitchen for more coffee. _Like father, like son,_ he thinks, with a grin. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://whiskeytangofrogman.tumblr.com/).


End file.
